


Fucking Shreveport

by Minxie



Category: Queer as Folk (US), True Blood
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Excerpt:</b> <i> "Presumptuous, aren't you?" He arches a brow, one side of his mouth quirking into a smirk. "Just assuming I actually want to fuck you?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Shreveport

**Author's Note:**

> *smackles* my darling Red for the beta!

Fifteen minutes and I'm ready to say fuck the account and take the very next flight out of this godforsaken city. I can feel the sweat soaking through my shirt, likely staining the lining of my suit jacket. Just lovely.

I've been in steam rooms cooler than fucking Shreveport, Louisiana in August.

Ryder owes me for this. Owes me big. And I will collect. Five days in the Caribbean sounds like a fair trade for two in Shreveport.

Sliding into the back of a waiting cab I encounter an even more stifling heat. "Jesus. Fuck."

"From the north, yeah?"

I manage to hide a wince – silently promising to _never_ bitch about Emmett's hick twang again – and nod. "Pittsburgh," I mutter, not that I really expect this idiot to know where the fuck I'm talking about.

"This ain't nothing compared to Naw'Lans. Some'd even call this downright chilly."

"And some would be smoking some damn good shit if they did."

The driver huffs a chuckle and pulls out into the flow of traffic. "Where to?"

"Hilton on Market."

I toy with the idea of calling ahead, making sure they have the damn air on in my room before I get there, then decide that's too queenish even in these extreme temperatures. However, if my room isn't cool, well, then there will be queening and lots of it.

"Here for business?"

Sure as fuck not for vacation. "Yeah. Two days."

He nods and turns his attention back to the road. "Pretty sure you won't melt in two days."

That's questionable at best.

Fucking Shreveport.

* * * * *

  
One look at the club, at my surroundings, and I rethink the idea of clubbing. Finding a piece of ass to break up the boredom of the heat and humidity might not be this important.

Because this damn sure isn't Liberty Avenue.

But then I see something worth looking into further. He's blond and built and carrying enough arrogance to offer a challenge.

Hopefully a challenge that lacks the fucking Shreveport drawl.

* * * * *

  
Turning away from the dance floor, I order another Beam. The mystery blond had done nothing but dance with first one hot body and then another and then another. Never doing more than licking and sucking at their necks and yet all of them have walked away with their eyes blown wide and glassy, skin flushed, and come staining their jeans.

The fags in Louisiana are way too easy.

"You'd be wrong."

His breath – and there is no doubt that it is him – is ghosting over my neck, raising goose bumps along my arms.

"I'm just that damn good."

My cock twitches in agreement. Jesus. Fuck.

I turn and meet his gaze head on. "There a backroom in this dive?"

"Presumptuous, aren't you?" He arches a brow, one side of his mouth quirking into a smirk. "Just assuming I actually want to fuck you?"

"That's not what I'm assuming at all." Pushing my tongue into my cheek, I slip my hand beneath his waistband and trail the tips of my fingers over his dick. "Let's get out of here."

A huff of laughter follows us all the way out of the club and into the balmy Louisiana night.

* * * * *

  
"Not going to happen, you know."

I know I didn't say anything out loud. Nothing about how tight I hope his ass is or how hot his mouth would feel around my cock. Brow arched, I ask, "You hearing things now?"

"You're not as subtle as you'd like to think." He glances my way and then immediately turns his attention back to the road. "While we will be fucking tonight, and I will be sucking tonight, none of it is going to play out the way you are imagining it."

"We'll see," I murmur.

Because while he is the apparent stud in these parts, the man has yet to see how I operate.

* * * * *

  
The fight for dominance starts the minute the door shuts behinds me. Twisting and turning, we work at each others shirts. The sound of our grunts and groans, of us slamming against walls and tables, covers the sound of ripping fabric. The kisses are nowhere near chaste, nowhere near tempered. Probably don't count as kisses at all. They're all teeth and tongue, both of us coming away bruised and bleeding and begging for more.

The trick tips his head to the side. "You're different."

I wait him out, no agreement and no question.

"You give as good as you get."

Popping the buttons on my jeans, I drag my tongue over my lips. "Hit your knees and we'll find out just how true that is."

He slides to his knees and looks up. "You think you'll still be up to fucking me after I blow you?"

As if that has ever been a problem.

"If I'm not, you can have my ass without argument."

He flicks his tongue against the vein throbbing in my dick. "And if you are, I'll roll over for you."

Something in his eyes tells me I'm fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Then he swallows around my dick, encasing my entire length in moist heat and his throat is swallowing, working around my cockhead.

Suddenly being fucked by him, by this blond enigma doesn't sound like such a bad idea.

* * * * *

  
Way too soon he pulls off my dick and pushes to a stand. Ignoring my grunt of displeasure, he leads me backwards until my calves brush against the bed. In no time, almost instantaneously, he has us both naked and stretched out on cool sheets.

"Nice trick." I don't know if I mean the ridiculously fast stripping or him. When his mouth engulfs my cock again, I decide the right answer is both. "Very nice trick."

His chuckle has my hips arching, my dick sliding deeper into his throat.

"Fuck."

"In due time," he whispers.

Then he goes back to the business at hand – namely my cock.

* * * * *

  
Saliva is wetting _everything_. It's pooling at the base of my cock. Slicking my balls and trickling down the crack of my ass.

Blow jobs have never been this fucking messy. Or this damn good.

Running his fingers through the mixture of sweat and spit and precome, the trick starts nudging at my ass. Spreading my cheeks and slipping a single finger into my hole.

_Christ_.

I'm humping back on his hand, rocking up into his mouth… looking for way the fuck more than I'm getting.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

What I want to say, what I hope he hears is _Fuck **me**_.

And I'm sure he does, knows exactly what I want when he plunges another finger into my ass.

Back bowing, I hiss, "Yes, dammit."

Then he pulls off, replaces his mouth with his hand, jacking my dick while fingers – three fucking fingers –plunder my hole, and he noses – damn near nuzzles – into the juncture of groin and hip, brushing open mouthed kisses over my pulse point.

"May I?"

What. The. Fuck.

"Yeah, whatever." My grip tightens in his hair and I snap my hips between the pleasures of his hands. "Just don't fucking stop."

He licks and sucks, pulling blood to the surface. I can't even be bothered by the mark I know he is leaving. Because, yeah, _fuck_.

Then, to the feeling of a stinging bite, my orgasm overtakes me.

He's milking my cock with his hand and my skin with his mouth.

And I come for-fucking-ever.

* * * * *

  
"God."

His chuckles vibrate against me skin. "Eric, actually."

"Brian," I murmur automatically in return.

"So are you up to it, Brian?"

I wish I was. I wish I had the energy to roll this fucker over and return everything that he just gave. But I know that I don't. Instead I turn with a soft hiss. I'm gonna feel that fucking bite…

"You bit me."

His fingers are back in my hole, slick with oil and quickly prepping me for more.

"I asked first."

Arrogant asshole. "Yeah, you did."

Then I hear the sound of a condom opening and feel him pressing into me. And thoughts about him biting me – _biting_ me – flitter away.

Because, _fuck_, he's hung.

And his hips are rolling in a steady rhythm of thrust and retreat. His dick is stretching me, dancing me along the edge of pleasure and pain, and then he glances over my prostate and my breath quickens, my entire body tightens, and, _Christ on a crutch_ my cock jerks and starts to fill again.

Then he's sitting back on his haunches, pulls me up with him until I'm astride his legs, my back flush against his chest. And his dick slips even deeper into my ass.

The groan it rips out of me is low and sultry. And followed quickly by his name.

"May I?"

My mind blanks, lips press into a tight line. Because he wants to bite me. Again.

And, truthfully, I want him to.

"Let me, Brian."

I nod once. Fast and short and quick enough I can't change my mind.

He undulates his hips, trails his hands over me, and whispers, "Say it."

My head drops back on his shoulder and I moan. "Yes, you may."

Then he strikes again, sinking teeth – very sharp fucking teeth – into my skin.

And my body shakes and arches, my dick pulses and releases into his hand, and slowly my world fades to black.

* * * * *

  
I wake up to the sound of phones: the hotel phone (wake-up call) and my cell (Mikey, no doubt). I reach out and grab the phone off the bedside table, make nice with the front desk while I request breakfast be sent to my room, and then, flopping back on the bed, I ignore my cell.

I am still too sated to actually want to talk to Michael right now. Not to mention I ache, hurt from head to toe in a very fucking pleasant way.

It's only when room service arrives that I drag ass out of bed, stumbling through pulling on a pair of boxers and jerking the door open. The scent of coffee goes a long way to waking me up.

"This message was left at the front desk for you, Mr. Kinney."

A shiver of anticipation rushes through me. Trading the bellboy a tip for the envelope, I murmur, "Thanks."

The handwriting is precise, holds a hint of an old world script. I scan the words and then, smirking, reread them slowly. Looks like I may be coming here for a vacation after all.

  
_If you return to Shreveport call me. I owe you a round on top. ~Eric Northman_  



End file.
